


gravitas

by sieges



Series: a study on you(th) and reverie [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Time Skip, Relationship Study, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sieges/pseuds/sieges
Summary: Things in three's.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: a study on you(th) and reverie [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1902292
Comments: 66
Kudos: 469
Collections: MSBY Exchange





	gravitas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hanaheil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanaheil/gifts).



> Hello, giftee! I wanted to try something new and stray away from what is usually expected of the prompts you gave— roommates and coffee shop, specifically. They're still relatively central concepts to the story though, so I hope you'll be satisfied by the fic. 
> 
> Huge thanks to kit and manon for reading through this and telling me your thoughts during the editing stages of _gravitas_. You two really are the best.
> 
> Highly recommended that you listen to the song [Even The Nights Are Better by Air Supply](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fSBjXnhwSw), because it sets the tone and is also the song that gets mentioned at some point within the fic.

Despite Sakusa’s insistence not to, Atsumu takes him to the airport. They have ten minutes before he has to board the plane and take off. 

“This is for you.” Atsumu says, and he hands Sakusa three items: a neck pillow, hair clips, and a cassette tape. 

“How unromantic.” Sakusa deadpans, staring at the objects now placed in his hands. 

“We broke up this mornin’.” Atsumu points out, not unkindly. Sakusa rolls his eyes. “I don’t care what’cha do with ‘em, but they should be useful for a while. New place might fuck with yer sleep schedule, so this pillow’s got a strap ya can clip to yer bag so ya can use it whenever ya feel drowsy. Plus, I hear med students end up livin’ in the library and labs. There aren’t any beds there.”

“That’s stupid.” 

Atsumu ignores him and points to the items. “The hair clips are for yer bangs since they keep on coverin’ yer vision when yer lookin’ down for too long.”

The neck pillow has little fox faces and the hair clips are yellow and green. Sakusa doesn’t know if any of it is on purpose. He expected something admittedly sappy from Atsumu, like a Polaroid picture or a shiny necklace because he always used to complain that he wanted Sakusa to buy those things for him, but he likes that Atsumu prioritized practical gifts instead— the kind that are of long-term use and the kind that Sakusa has always preferred over everything else. 

Sakusa glances at the last item Atsumu hasn’t explained. He takes his words back. 

“And the cassette tape?”

Atsumu shrugs, mouth slightly curved. “To make up for the _un-romance_ of it all.”

Sakusa has the silly, impulsive thought of kissing him silly. Instead, he says, “I won’t have access to the same stuff we had back in the apartment. I don’t think they’ll have a player there.”

“Then I guess ya won’t be listenin’ to it anytime soon.” Atsumu replies, smug but not quite. The loudspeaker announces that Sakusa has five minutes to board. Atsumu’s smile flickers. “You should go.”

Sakusa doesn’t want to. The grin is back on Atsumu’s face, but the way the light in his eyes have dimmed by the barest tint means he doesn’t want Sakusa to go either. There are little tells that he's accumulated over the course of the years they’ve been friends, the year they’ve been roommates, the months they’ve been something more; it’s tangled in the bed sheets, across dining tables, standing side by side in front of the kitchen counter. 

These aren’t things he can tangibly carry with him across oceans, but at least Sakusa has three things from Atsumu, _of_ Atsumu: a neck pillow, hair clips, and a cassette tape. 

“I should go.” Sakusa agrees, except he doesn’t move. Atsumu notices and lets out a sharp exhale that speaks of exasperation and fondness, and Sakusa thinks that he isn’t going to be hearing that sound for a while, neither from Atsumu’s mouth or his own. 

When Atsumu stretches out his hands, Sakusa almost thinks he’s going to pull him in a kiss, but instead, Atsumu grabs the collar of his jacket and turns him around. It’s a surprisingly firm gesture, void of any of the hesitation Sakusa still clings onto even though he’s supposed to be the one that doesn’t have it. 

(That morning, Sakusa had said with nothing but straightforwardness, _we’re breaking up, aren’t we?_ As he washed the dishes, Atsumu replied, _we gotta._ )

A kiss isn’t something tangible either, Sakusa thinks, and it’s why Atsumu doesn’t give him one. It doesn’t mean Sakusa doesn’t crave for it anyway. Sometimes it’s surreal to think about— how Atsumu has taught Sakusa to want his touch when he usually shies away from it; other times, he thinks it’s only natural. Atsumu is the type of person you don’t ever want to let go. 

“I’ll be rootin’ for ya.” Atsumu says gently, Sakusa’s back turned to him. “With whatever ya do.”

“This isn’t a match. This is med school.” Sakusa pauses. “I’m not playing anymore. You don’t need to cheer me on like that.”

It’s easy to recreate the feeling of his leg throbbing, like a reminder of what he lost and what he had to gain to deal with it, even if he hasn’t actually felt any pain for a while now. 

“Can’t I cheer ya on still?” Atsumu questions idly. “Med school is its own tournament. Havin’ to learn new things, workin’ together with others to climb to the top, lotsa terms and procedures to remember.”

Sakusa snorts. “You think too simply.”

“Part of my charm.”

Sakusa has nothing to say to that, not because he doesn’t have a comeback, but because the loudspeaker announces the time once more. Atsumu presses his hands against Sakusa’s back. Despite the layers of clothing covering him, the warmth radiates like a trusted weight Sakusa needs to keep himself grounded. He grasps onto the sensation and tries to commit it to memory. 

Atsumu lightly shoves him forward and the touch fades. They don’t really say goodbye. Sakusa doesn’t look back, but he doesn’t need to when he can hear Atsumu turn his heel and walk away. A beat later, Sakusa does the same. 

Komori used to say that this was the novelty of Atsumu and Sakusa’s relationship: how they could afford to leave things unsaid because they’ve never been too good with words. He’s right, because Sakusa thinks about the goodbye kiss they didn’t share, the breakfast they did, the way their hips knocked together as they washed the dishes and agreed, _let’s stop this._ Sakusa knows that if he just asked, he could’ve had all of those and more. But he didn’t. He likes to think he’s not greedy enough for that sort of thing. 

_Breakups ain’t easy,_ he remembers Atsumu telling him, the night Sakusa confessed he wanted them to be together despite the deadline looming over them. Four months before Sakusa would leave the country to attend a prestigious med school. A third of an entire year before Atsumu would have to return to a team that was once _theirs_ , now just Atsumu’s, to play for the season as their first-string setter. 

Still, despite his words, Atsumu gave Sakusa three things on the day they part to make the breakup tolerable. 

Sakusa thinks of the certainty of Atsumu’s hands on his back before he pushed him away and the gentle brush of Atsumu’s lips against his own last night. He wishes they were tangible things he could grasp onto and demand more of. 

Instead, he clutches onto what he has. A neck pillow, hair clips, and a cassette tape.

* * *

A week in, he stumbles into a coffee shop that plays all its music from an old cassette player. The tea is good, reminiscent of home in the aftertaste; the interior is soft colors of blue and gold, reminding him of the fairy lights Atsumu would hang up every evening after dinner. He doesn’t go to the shop for any other reason, but the cassette tape innocently sitting at the corner of his room will occasionally catch his eye and cause him to curl his knuckles into his fists, saying, _wait. Be patient._

He uses the neck pillow. At first, it’s simply for its intended purpose— in the plane ride, the car trips, the brief lulls in between classes during the few times he isn’t required to shift rooms. He uses it so often that from afar, people can tell it’s him from the pillow's obnoxious design alone, hanging from his backpack. Sakusa doesn’t care because he’s never thought twice about how people look at him, even when he’s surrounded by even stranger strangers than before. 

Almost a month in, he starts using it even when he’s at home, nuzzling his face into the softness simply because it smells like familiarity. He lives alone in a dorm building he shares with other med students that aren’t locals and no one is here to judge his actions. 

The neck pillow goes unmentioned when he and Atsumu talk. When Komori asked, _you guys still talk?_ Sakusa said, _of course we do_. They spend an hour or two catching each other up on what they’ve been up to even though Atsumu uploads everything on Instagram and Sakusa takes advantage of his private Twitter account that only five people follow to rant about his stress in order to _de-_ stress. It’s small talk between them, capable of stretching on longer than it’s meant to. It always helped that Atsumu liked to talk a lot, and it always helped that the things he’d say would have a certain hook to them that tried to bait Sakusa into launching into his own, lengthy spiel. Bokuto said once, _you guys bring out the unexpected from each other._

Atsumu is talking about his meticulous process of preparing this European-style pork cutlet that Osamu taught him, except it’s all wrong and Sakusa ends up taking over the entire conversation just to correct him. Like this, Sakusa can almost delude himself into believing they never broke up in the first place. 

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says one time, and it’s nice that he hasn’t switched back to his stupid _Omi_ nickname despite the separation. Sakusa used to say _Miya_ just to see Atsumu wrinkle his nose in distaste, but he never liked calling the setter by his last name either. He’s grown to like the way _Atsumu_ sounds on his tongue. “Yer doin’ good, right?”

They’re both blunt but not that good with words. It’s not inherent in Atsumu to be so obvious about the fact that he cares, if only because Sakusa is the type to be doubtful about it. For Sakusa, Atsumu had to do it in the most subtle ways— draping a blanket over a sleeping figure, sliding a hot mug of tea across the table, rubbing the aching muscles in hands to soothe the pain. But these aren’t the kind of comforts Atsumu can provide to let Sakusa know that he’s there and that he cares. Actions like those are incapable of traveling miles and miles to unfamiliar territory, incapable of being shown through phone lines that connect two people who are supposed to be apart. 

Sakusa wraps the neck pillow around him even though he’s standing and talks to Atsumu over a call as he pours himself a cup of tea. 

_Yer doin’ good, right?_ Atsumu asks. 

“I miss you.” Sakusa admits, because he has to readjust to their situation in his own way too. 

Atsumu laughs. Sakusa wants to say it again so Atsumu can laugh again, but to repeat something over and over means to let it lose its meaning, and he doesn’t want that, because he _means_ it. 

_I miss you._ Sakusa tells him. 

“I know.” Atsumu says, and that’s all he needs to say. 

This is the novelty of their relationship in Sakusa’s eyes: how they could afford to leave things unsaid because they’re too scared to admit it. The irony of the situation is that their relationship has taught Atsumu to be a lot more guarded with his words while it made Sakusa a lot more open about them. Bokuto said, _you bring out the unexpected from each other_. 

Two months into the relationship, they stepped in a newly opened coffee shop and Atsumu’s eyes brightened at the unique interior of vinyls and cassette tapes plastered on the walls and at the old jukebox stationed at the side. The drinks were normal by all means but had a tinge of _old_ to it, like they’d seen better days. Sakusa recalls thinking that it was like they were displaced, faraway from the rest of the world and cooped up in this new one— the same train of thought he’d have under the dim lighting of their shared apartment, putting the dishes and utensils away or crawling into the couch to cuddle as the TV plays. 

Atsumu talks about his fascination with the newest member in their roster over a cup of coffee; Sakusa explains his newest paper as he drinks the remainder of his tea. The distance stretches on farther than either of them can comprehend, placing them at opposite ends of the world instead of sharing a single one. Sakusa rests his cheek on the neck pillow, inhales, and wonders if the both of them are going to be fine. 

* * *

Atsumu likes things in three’s, so he gives Sakusa three hair clips. The latter uses them when he does chores, and it’s something he’ll admit he picked up from Atsumu when he first saw him scrubbing the bathroom tiles with the clips pushing his hair back so he could see properly. (The bathroom tiles were already clean, was the thing. Atsumu had left training early that day because Sakusa was finally getting discharged from the hospital and cleaned again so the floor would look spotless. Sakusa never mentioned the extra effort Atsumu put, but he never forgot it either.) 

They waver in the fourth month. Contact starts to taper off due to differing time zones and unpredictable schedules until they aren’t talking _at all_. It’s expected and it’s why they broke up in the first place, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Sakusa becoming ridiculously busy with the new culture, the new people, and the new expectations held for him as an incoming doctor instead of an incoming pro-athlete doesn’t change that. 

Still, he doesn’t call. Atsumu has always been the one to start that sort of thing, but he isn’t now because he’s busy with volleyball; Sakusa is busy with med school, and it doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss him any less. What it might mean is that Atsumu may not feel the same. 

Sakusa goes to the coffee shop one time and orders tea. Every time he’s been here, it’s always alone, but that doesn’t stop the barista from saying, as he gets his drink from the pick-up counter, “Sir, you look like you miss someone.”

She gives him an extra packet of cream. Sakusa used to always ask for one back in Japan not because he wanted it, but because Atsumu did. It’s one of those habits he’s un-learned ever since coming here, but the others aren’t that easy. The rare times he indulges himself in convenience store meals, he buys for two. Grocery stores that are worth coming back to are determined by how reasonable their produce of tuna is priced. When he hangs out with the new friends he’s made, he always leaves early as if he has someone to return to. 

Not knowing what else to say, Sakusa replies, “Thank you.”

He wavers in the fourth month because he realizes the irony of the situation. This is how long they dated in the first place. One hundred twenty days of being in love and being loved back doesn’t mean anything when his four months abroad have gone by in an almost blur in the grander scheme of things. Sakusa’s chest feels heavy even though it’s emptying out, bit by bit. You can’t determine the quality of a relationship with quantity, but he fears anyway, that what they had didn’t mean as much as he thought it did. 

(“We’re breaking up, aren’t we?” Sakusa had asked. 

Atsumu was quiet for a few minutes. He pulled a cleaned plate out of the sink and handed it to Sakusa for him to dry.

“We gotta.” he replied. 

“Okay.” Sakusa said. “But once all of this is over, will we—?”

“We haven’t even officially called it quits and yer thinkin’ ‘bout gettin’ back together? Yer cute, Kiyoomi.” Atsumu mused, and Sakusa couldn’t tell whether the other was faking it or not. His expression turned somber. “I dunno. Anythin’ could happen. Guess it’ll depend on how we feel.”

 _How we feel._ “You make it sound so easy.”

“Hm.” Atsumu hummed. “Guess it’s ‘cause bein’ with you is just like that.”

Sakusa hadn’t missed the tense Atsumu used.)

Around one hundred twenty days in, the scent on his neck pillow fades into smelling like his beige bed sheets that visit the laundry every month, nowhere close to the particular fragrance of Atsumu’s detergent. Sakusa loses one hair clip one time while he’d been dusting off the closet and spent hours trying to find it only to fail. _Breakups ain’t easy,_ Atsumu had said, except they’d been broken up for a long time. 

Breakups aren’t easy, but _forgetting_ is, and so is accepting the fact that one day, it’ll happen. Sakusa doesn’t remember the color of Atsumu’s towel. He doesn’t know the song they swayed to during Thomas’ wedding reception. He can’t recall their last conversation. 

A month after Komori broke it off with his two-year girlfriend, he and Sakusa went out for drinks. There, a tad bit tipsy, Sakusa asked, “Is it possible to quickly get over someone even if you loved them?”

“No.” Komori replied. “If you think you have, then you’re just lying to yourself. You’re just suppressing it. The longing. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“So what do you do?”

“Whatever you want to do.” Komori’s brows had knitted together. “There’s no right answer to this, Kiyoomi. It’s okay to miss someone and it’s okay to not want them back.”

That night, he returned to the apartment he shared with Atsumu and kissed him. He told him about Komori and what happened to him. Atsumu said, _breakups ain’t easy_ , and that had been his only stance on it. 

_It’s okay to miss someone and it’s okay to not want them back._ Sakusa wonders if one of them is the former and the other is the latter. 

Sakusa and Atsumu got together on the 22th. He knows this because Atsumu wrote it down and encircled it in bright green on their shared calendar back in the apartment; he knows this because the first thing Atsumu did the morning after was get Sakusa’s phone and put down the reminder on his calendar app. Atsumu made it all too easy, sliding into Sakusa’s life and molding himself to become a part of it, to the point that not having him by his side feels just as daunting and terrifying as that moment when his leg gave out and the doctor said he reached the finish line even though there was still a long pathway ahead. 

Tucked in the crevice between the bedframe and the mattress is the cassette tape. It’s already past midnight when Sakusa leaves the dorm and heads to the coffee shop apparently open twenty-four seven, and since there’s no other customer there, they let him use the player. He brings it to the corner booth of the store and sits down right in front of it. Seeming to sense the need for privacy, the employee by the counter walks into the staff room and leaves him alone. 

What starts to filter in the coffee shop is an old song from a foreign rock band, one Sakusa recognizes to be the track they danced on their teammate’s wedding reception, temporarily stealing the show of the celebrant to put the spotlight over them for just a moment. Komori said, _it’s okay to miss someone._ After the track ends, Atsumu’s voice comes in seconds later, low and clear and soothing. Sakusa almost thinks he’s right here. 

_“I’d say I got a whole speech planned for this since this is s’pposed to be like the rest of items— for keeps. But I kinda wanna make this short.”_ Atsumu is saying. _“If ya didn’t get the memo, this one’s in case you’ll miss me. I hope ya don’t play it often.”_

There’s static that follows after. They’re brief, anticlimactic words. More like the kind of thing Sakusa would say instead of Atsumu. But even if the latter isn’t here, it’s easy to imagine the small smile he would’ve made as he recorded this. Pleased and satisfied for being able to pull it off. 

This is the real novelty of their relationship: how they could afford to leave things unsaid because they already know. 

_It’s okay to miss someone and it’s okay to not want them back._ Sakusa knows this. He knows Atsumu knows this. And yet— 

Just then, Atsumu’s voice filters in once more. 

_“I mean, I hope ya don’t play it often, ‘cause I wanna talk to ya soon. Call me, ‘kay? If ya really do miss me.”_

The recording ends. Sakusa replays the tape and lets the song wash over him. 

Komori said, _it’s okay to miss someone and it’s okay to not want them back._ Atsumu said, _I hope ya don’t play it often._ It has the weight as his, _I know_. The same tone of finality, but these are intangible words Sakusa feels like he can mold into his own making, and despite what everyone tells him in the face of his uncertainty, deep down, he’s always known what he wanted. 

He plays the recording again because Atsumu has always liked things in three’s. He takes out his phone. When the call finally picks up, the first thing Atsumu says is, “Took ya long enough.”

“I know.” Sakusa says, and that’s all he needs to say.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by two things:  
> (1) @/conceptsbot's prompt: _i want you to listen to their voice this month_ , and primarily;  
> (2) these lines from Air Supply's song: "Even the nights are better, now that we're here together. Even the nights are better since I found you. Even the days are brighter when someone you love is beside you."
> 
> (I'm [@inarizakicks](https://twitter.com/inarizakicks) on twitter!)


End file.
